The Satisfaction
by mysteriesunveiled
Summary: Hanschen is tired of the abuse from his father. How will he deal with it? Rated T because of child abuse. One-shot.


**Ok so this is my first attempt at getting inside of Hanschen's head. Hopefully I'll do ok. And also I know that the whole Hanschen getting abused by his father is used a lot but I don't care. Had this idea and had to write it. **

"Goodbye Ernst," I said reluctantly.

"Goodbye Hanschen, I love you," and with that he turned and walked away in the opposite direction. At least someone did.

I hated to leave the vineyard. I hated to go home, to see my mother and father, the disappointment on their faces with everything I do. I hated to leave our special tree. But mostly, I hated to leave him.

I heard the church bells ringing, and counted them. Nine? No, that can't be. We'd only been an hour—or so it felt. Then, it set in. Nine! I was so late, and my father wouldn't be happy, nor my mother, but she doesn't punish me as my father does. I knew I was in for it, not to mention I had accidentally ripped my shirt, two faults…

I saw my house, getting closer and closer as I walked. I knew I couldn't put it off any longer, it would only be worse. I slowly opened the door, trying to be discrete. I should have known it wouldn't work. Not with the loud creak of the elderly to mention the fact my mother and father were waiting, just staring at the door.

"And just where have you been?" my father wasn't yelling, it was worse. Just a malicious tone that made me shutter; I knew what was to come.

"I'm sorry, father, I was studying and lost track of time. It will never happen again." If only he would accept this and move on, but I knew he wouldn't.

"You're sorry? You're SORRY? Oh no, this won't do. But you were right about one thing, it will never happen again." And with that, he drew back his hand and swiftly struck me across the face.

I knew this would happen, but somehow had forgotten the pain. But this time, he wouldn't get to me. I was sick of it. Sick of him, of my mother, of my home-life. I was sick of crying myself to sleep at night. Tired of trying to deal with it. I was tired of the excuses I had to make up when people wondered aloud about my wounds. But the absolute worst was seeing the despair on Ernst's face, every time he saw a new line of welts or a fresh bruise; and he knows. I just know he sees right through my act. And I can see the frustration at how he doesn't know what to do to help.

I didn't give my father the satisfaction of touching my face where he had slapped me, I just couldn't. Seeing the smirk on his face would be too much. I didn't move a muscle, just stared at him, straight in the eye.

I realized my breathing had increased. It was the adrenaline, the desire to fight back, but the knowing better than to do it. Instead, I would fight back with my reactions; I would not give him the satisfaction. Never again.

When he saw that I had no response to the first hit, he delivered a blow so hard, I was sure my nose was broken. Blood gushing was the only reply to the punch, which I knew he wouldn't like.

"IS IT NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?" Here was the yelling, worse than ever before. And that was when my mom noticed the rip.

"What happened to your shirt? Do you think I have time to sew it back? Do you do this on purpose, or are you just careless?" She was never as bad as my father, but these words hurt worse than anything my father could have done. I tried, but nothing was ever good enough for either of them.

"I'm sorry mother, I was walking and my shirt caught a tree branch. I'll try to be more careful next time. But it was only a mistake." I couldn't decide if this was going to be enough, but she kept a completely emotionless face, which wasn't a good sign.

"No, Hanschen, _you_ are the mistake." And with that she left me, alone with my father.

My father started relentlessly beating me now, blow after blow, strike after strike, hit after hit. I guess he had only held back for my mother's sake. But that didn't matter now—she was gone.

"You," _slap_ "are," _punch_ "the most," _kick_ "useless," _thrown against a wall_ "stupid," _a blow to the stomach_ "ungrateful," _doubled over in pain_ "worthless," _slammed onto the ground_ "child," _covered with bruises_ "and I," _a crack of a rib_ "wish you'd," _a_ _blow to the chin_ "never been," _slam _"born." _Nothing. A sigh of disappointment._

He was done. It was over. He could tell he wouldn't get anything out of me. The entire time, I hadn't said anything, yelled, let out any noise of pain. I had not cried or even tried to protect myself. I just let him push me around, told myself it would be over soon enough. We both were panting, and I just looked up from the ground, and stared straight into his emotionless eyes. Mine showed not sadness, not pain, not anger. Only disappointment. Because I would not let him have the satisfaction.

No matter how disappointed both my parents were in me, it would never compare to the disappointment I had for them. I had seen what parents were supposed to be like; I had been to the Röbel's house many times. Not once did they show any sign of distaste to Ernst or even to me. Only love to their only son, the light of their lives.

I turned, without saying a word, and headed upstairs to my room. I didn't say a word the rest of the night. I didn't cry myself to sleep. I did nothing. Because I would not give him that satisfaction.

**So I hate when people ask for reviews… But here I go: Reviews? Criticism? Questions? Concerns? Comments? Queries? Haha :)**

**Anyways thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. **

**Note: Sorry if anyone had a story update on this for any reason. I went back and edited it a bit, because I realized some of the mistakes I had made. But this is just a one-shot, so there shouldn't be any story update-ers anyways. **


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